


Grounding Influences

by waterofthemoon



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Making Love, Morning Sex, One Shot, Sharing a Bed, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 11:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24848872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterofthemoon/pseuds/waterofthemoon
Summary: A quiet morning in the South Downs. Crowley has a touch of restlessness, but Aziraphale's there to bring him back down to Earth.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 166





	Grounding Influences

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something soft and was inspired by the Staged promo pictures, especially [this set](https://waterofthemoon.tumblr.com/post/621576653064339456/fuckyeahgoodomens-and-more-staged-photos)! Thanks to everyone who supports my writing. ♥

_Devil's Dyke, spring 2024_

Aziraphale wakes to an empty bed.

He squints at the light beginning to peek through the curtains—it's barely dawn. It's no good lying abed without Crowley to cuddle with, though, so with a little huff, Aziraphale levers himself up and pulls his brocade dressing gown on over his pyjamas.

They're well into spring, but there's still a bit of a draft in the mornings, here in their cottage. Aziraphale slides his feet into his fuzzy slippers, too, and sets off to find Crowley.

He doesn't have to search far. Crowley is standing in their garden, just a few steps from the back door. There's very little chance Crowley doesn't know he's there, but even so, Aziraphale takes a moment just to look.

Crowley's wearing a black, hooded jacket, fleecy on the inside, that he pouted about needing at first but has now worn to the point of it threatening to develop holes. (It wouldn't—it rather knows better.) The soft black shorts he wore to bed are slung low on his hips and exposing knees and legs covered in crimson hair. His shoulder-length waves are tousled, but from the two of them being curled up in bed, not in any sort of artistic or purposeful way.

His feet are bare, the better to feel the grass and dirt and the axis of rotation beneath them, and Aziraphale _aches_ , suddenly, even though Crowley's right there.

He's just made up his mind to go out there, to interrupt whatever reverie has gotten Crowley out of bed nearly before the sun, when Crowley glances over his shoulder and smiles at him. That settles it, then. Aziraphale kicks off his slippers, pushes open the door, and greets Crowley with a press of lips to his cheek.

"You're up early," Aziraphale says.

"Mmmm. Woke up," Crowley says, as if that's not obvious. "Felt—I don't know, restless. Twitchy." 

He slings an arm around Aziraphale's waist, pulling him closer. Aziraphale doesn't resist; he hasn't done for years. They're well-practiced at this kind of affection now, and Aziraphale leans into the hold, his body unerringly finding the places where he and Crowley fit together.

"Well, you might have woken me. I could have done something about it." Aziraphale snuggles a bit closer. A part of him still wishes they had remained under the covers, but this is nice, too, with the damp earth squishing beneath their feet and Crowley's garden surrounding and sheltering them.

Crowley shakes his head. "Nah, that wouldn't do. You were too peaceful, lying there. This helped, I promise." He tilts his head down to give Aziraphale a soft smile, devastatingly fond. "Besides, you found me out anyway, didn't you?"

Aziraphale leans up and meets that smile with a kiss. "I suppose I did."

The joining of their mouths turns languid and luxurious as Crowley gathers Aziraphale into his arms properly. When they pull back, Aziraphale's now at an angle to see that Crowley's not wearing a shirt under his half-unzipped jacket, and the tease granted by the hint of bare skin and chest hair is too much to resist. Aziraphale slides the jacket's zipper down a little more, presses his mouth there against Crowley's breastbone, listens to the pounding of his heart.

"You're all right, then?" Aziraphale asks. Crowley nods. "Will you come back to bed?" He moves his mouth up a little higher and kisses Crowley in the hollow of his throat, pulls the jacket aside to trail his lips across Crowley's collarbone.

Crowley's eyes flutter shut as he shudders and leans into it, and he makes one of his incomprehensible pleasure noises. "Yeah. Sounds perfect." His hands slip inside Aziraphale's dressing gown, in a move that might have taken Aziraphale by surprise several years or several centuries ago, and come to rest on his bottom. "Can I—angel, I really want to make love to you."

"I was rather hoping you'd be amenable," Aziraphale admits, kissing him on the mouth again.

They go inside, where they divest each other of their clothes and lie down on their bed together. Crowley spends nearly an hour stretching Aziraphale open while the sun rises higher in the sky, and then shifts positions to allow Aziraphale to straddle him from above, the two of them working Crowley's cock in with maddening slowness.

When Aziraphale's fully seated, Crowley pulls him down and kisses him, soft and sweet, then meets his eyes. "Will you hold me?"

Aziraphale, of course, is more than willing. He would give Crowley the whole of the Earth if it came down to it. Crowley takes him like that—with Aziraphale halfway lying on top of him, one hand on Crowley's thigh to guide him and the other resting at the join of his neck and shoulders, tangling in his beautiful hair. Crowley's hands are firmly settled on Aziraphale's hip and bottom, as if making love to Aziraphale will ground him, keep him from flying away.

They only stop kissing when Aziraphale comes. Even then, he cries out into Crowley's mouth as he spills over Crowley's chest and belly. Crowley works his hips upward, more urgently now, and comes shortly after, with Aziraphale pressing as closely as he can.

Afterward, they clean up and turn over on their sides, and Aziraphale gathers Crowley into his arms. "Love you," Crowley murmurs, already halfway asleep.

Aziraphale, satisfied that Crowley won't run off again, rubs his back and cards his fingers through Crowley's hair. "Love _you_ ," he says, brushing his lips against Crowley's forehead. "My darling."

They drift off, and wake up again, with Crowley's face resting against Aziraphale's chest, his loose strands of hair tickling Aziraphale's chin. It's past eleven by the time they pull themselves away from each other long enough to get out of bed.

Aziraphale decides that he quite fancies waffles, so they cook brunch together, which today means Aziraphale doing most of the cooking while Crowley sips coffee and gets in his way. His throat and chest are temptingly exposed again by the zipper of that worn, soft jacket; Aziraphale finds himself distracted more than once and nearly burns Crowley's eggs.

"You fiend," he scolds, but his smile is already against Crowley's mouth before he even finishes saying it.

Once the brunch things are cleared away, they go back out to the cottage garden. Crowley fusses with the plants, while Aziraphale divides his time between some light reading and watching Crowley coax the plants into flourishing.

They both leave their shoes off—the better to feel the Earth tilting under their feet, the better to be grounded in everything around them. It's a lovely spring day. He hopes this can keep on being a safe haven for him and Crowley, for as long as they need it.


End file.
